


Love, Out Loud

by madeitsimple



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeitsimple/pseuds/madeitsimple
Summary: Steve struggles with all the things he can't say.





	Love, Out Loud

It wasn’t the Army that changed him, though for a long time he thought it was.  
  
Steve had never been what you would call gregarious, but he never had a hard time expressing himself, at least not before the serum. He was sensitive by nature, as good with words as he was with his drawing pencils. His mother liked to say he wore his heart on his sleeve. Bucky, out of a desire to keep his best pal from getting beat up, would just shake his head and murmur, “You got a lousy poker face, Steve.”  
  
His poker face was pretty good these days. He made flexing the hard line of his jaw a habit, so much so that Tony had once jokingly called him Captain Clench. Tony had given him an apologetic smile and rubbed his thumb along Steve’s jaw bone, even though they were in full view of the team.  
  
“Come on Cap, you gotta admit, you’re a man of few words,” Tony said.  
  
The serum had changed everything, and somewhere along the line, he had become serious and taciturn, saying only what needed to be said. It was born out of necessity he thought. If the Army had taught him anything, it was that the less you spoke, the more men respected you.  
  
Times were different and men were different now, and the hard set of his jaw sometimes felt like a mask. The mask was starting to slip off more, but what worried Steve was why he found himself scrambling to keep it on.  
  
The thought pops in his head as he exits the training simulation for the day, and Peter races by him towards Tony. He catches both their reflections in the glass, his face the exact opposite of Peter’s wide, effusive one. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Tony places both hands on Peter’s shoulders and gives him a fond, enthusiastic shake.   
  
“That was wonderful, kid. Exactly like we drew up,” Tony says. His eyes are bright and Peter’s smile grows impossibly wider. As they leave, Tony slings an arm around Peter’s shoulder and catches Steve’s eye. The corner of his mouth turns up a fraction and he gives Steve a barely perceptible wink.  
  
“You’re good with Peter,” Steve says, sliding next to him in bed that night. They rarely ever go to sleep at the same time, one or the other of them either on a mission or stuck in the lab or simply not tired. “He’s a good kid,” Tony replies pulling Steve a little closer. This thing between them has been going on long enough that it is no longer new, but Steve’s stomach still flips as Tony slides a hand up his shirt and captures his mouth.   
  
After, lying in a mess of wrinkled, damp sheets, Tony rolls on top of him and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, placing errant kisses along his brow and temple. He whispers soft endearments as they both come down, chests slick with sweat and pressed together. The words still make Steve blush, though he loves hearing them.   
  
“You did so good, baby,” Tony mumbles against his hair. “You’re perfect like this, just beautiful.”  
  
Steve knows he should say something back, whisper his own words of affection, but he clamps his mouth shut just the same, and buries his face against Tony’s damp neck. In response, he curls his fingers tighter around Tony’s waist. It’s the best he can do.  
  
In the mornings, Steve and Tony do their own awkward dance, negotiating space and boundaries that somehow seem more important in the light of day. Neither of them are good sleepers, but Steve usually wakes first, slipping out from under Tony’s arm before he can object. He goes for a run and showers, coming out of the bathroom just as Tony’s waking up.  
  
They meet back up in the kitchen, sharing juice and toast and oatmeal or eggs. It’s a ritual that Steve hasn’t shared with another person since his mother’s kitchen in Brooklyn.  
  
“3pm, Secretary Ross debrief,” Tony reminds him as he slides a cup of coffee Steve’s way.  
  
“I know,” Steve mumbles around his toast. He portions eggs out on to two plates and carries them over to the island. They sit side by side in comfortable silence, Tony staring at his tablet, Steve watching the news.  
  
Eggs and toast was how everything started with them. After Tony moved back into the compound, breakfast together became a routine and one day that routine turned into something more. It was hard, Steve figured, to have your defenses up before you even had your first cup of coffee.   
  
“You sleep OK?” Tony asks, pushing a forkful of food into his mouth.  
  
Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Better,” is all he allows. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed to the TV, even though he knows Tony’s waiting for him to turn around. Eye contact will only lead to more questions, questions Steve doesn’t have it in him to answer. He slept like shit, vivid psychotropic dreams leaving him more exhausted then rested. It would be easy enough to say _the nightmares are back_ but he keeps his eyes locked onto the screen.   
  
When they’re done, Tony takes both their plates and rinses them in the sink.  
  
“I do this only for you, you know that, right?” Tony tells him as he dries his hands. It gets a smile out Steve. “I know,” Steve says. He used to just leave them until Steve had made a stink about Tony being too reliant on the staff.   
  
Before they part for the day, Tony slides an arm around his waist and pulls him in closer. “Hey.” He waits till Steve meets his eyes. “Kiss me for real before I go.” So Steve does, licking inside Tony’s mouth in soft little waves, fingers wrinkling the sleeve of his perfectly pressed suit.  
  
“Good,” Tony says, pulling away finally. “Good.”  
  
There’s a moment before they step off the elevator that Steve thinks about saying something banal, something like _have a good day_ or _make sure to eat lunch_ or, just, _love you_. He settles for a curt nod and they go their separate ways.  
  
By late afternoon, Steve finds himself sandwiched between Natasha and Sam in the conference room, listening as Ross outlines the UN’s latest request. Steve’s eyes drift across the table and land where they usually do these days. Having long mastered the art of looking without really looking, his eyes trace the sharp edge of an exposed a collar bone, follow the delicate curve of an ear.  
  
“Captain Rogers?”  
  
Secretary Ross’ voice catches him by surprise. Far too well trained to flinch, Steve simply turns his head.  
  
“Any objections to adding Iron Man to the detail?” Ross asks again.  
  
“Just one,“ Steve says. “Mr. Stark will leave tomorrow morning. Along with Captain Rhodes.”  
  
Tony’s head snaps up and Ross looks like he’s going to protest, but Steve stops him with a glare. “We don’t send anyone out on solo missions, Secretary.” It’s a lie. Steve flies solo all the time.  
  
After the meeting, Tony stops him in the hallway with a light touch on his wrist. “This is a glorified security escort, Cap,” Tony tells him. “Let Rhody hang back with Carol and the kids.”  
  
“They’re shipping over 12 tons of Hydra weapons to a new base,” he says. “It’s a two-man mission.”  
  
“Steve, I’m going to be air support along with about 8 fighter jets,” Tony protests. “I can handle it.”  
  
“You’re taking Rhody.” Steve snaps. He keeps his voice clipped and squares his jaw. “That’s an order.”  
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha wince at the sharpness in his voice. Tony’s eyes spark with anger but Steve just stalks away, his heart suddenly beating too fast. _I don’t want you out there alone_ is what he wanted to say but the words had lodged in his throat.  
  
They train again in the evening, Natasha, Sam and him. Peter pops in towards the end of the session, and Steve pretends Tony’s absence isn’t a direct result of his dickish behavior earlier today.  
  
As they wrap up, Steve catches Peter staring at his shield, and finally, he relents. “Alright kid, 10 minutes with the shield, let’s go.”  
  
He throws the shield to Peter, who barely manages to catch it through his surprise. Steve shows him how to balance his weight, how even the smallest flick of his wrist changes the angle of the throw. They stay at it for longer than 10 minutes, until Tony comes looking for them for dinner.  
  
“Looking good, kid” Tony says and Peter beams. As they walk off the floor, Tony falls into step beside Steve, waiting till Peter is out of earshot. “You’re good with him too, you know,” he says. Steve stares at the floor and tries to forget he owes Tony an apology.  
  
He skips dinner and retreats to his room, staring at the ceiling until he hears the soft woosh of the door. Tony lingers for a second before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. His tie is lose, shirtsleeves rolled up and Steve stares a second too long at the bare strip of his forearm. Tony leaves early tomorrow morning and they should both sleep in their own beds tonight, but Steve spreads his legs just a little and Tony crawls between them.  
  
He almost lets things slip when they’re like this, wrapped up so tight in each other that Steve has no room to hide anything. There are words he could say as Tony works him open with his fingers while his mouth sucks at his erection, but he clenches his jaw, fisting his hands through Tony’s hair until he comes down his throat. Still sensitive and sore, a groan escapes Steve’s mouth as Tony continues to push his fingers inside him, slow but relentless. Steve drops his head back, and grips the sheets, the sensation overwhelming already. He squeezes his eyes shut as Tony removes his fingers, lines up and enters him in one swift move.  
“Fuck,” Steve gasps, his entire body lighting up with pleasure.  
  
“Gonna fuck you till you get hard again,” Tony says. He moves inside Steve with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one aiming at and hitting his prostrate, until Steve’s hands are grasping at his waist, whether to urge him on or slow him down, he can’t really tell. All of it is too much, his body already sensitive and overwhelmed, but he reaches up for Tony anyway, crushing their mouths together as Tony worms a hand between their bodies. He takes Steve in his hand and begins to stroke him. “That good, baby?” he whispers into Steve’s mouth, thumb flicking over the head. Steve should say_ yes_. He should say, _more_ or _please_ or _god, this feels so good_ but the words strangle him, and he digs his fingers into Tony’s side and bites his lip until he can taste blood.  
  
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Tony says and snaps his hips into Steve with force that makes his cock jump. “Like that, baby?”   
  
Steve can only nod, his breath coming out in harsh, staccato gasps, his hair plastered with sweat. Tony grabs him by the hips and does it again, and again, until Steve wraps his own hand around his dick, stroking furiously.  
  
“That’s it, Steve, that’s it, baby. Come on, come for me again.” They’re doing the dirtiest things imaginable and yet Tony’s voice is so soft, so kind that Steve’s throat closes up tight. He squeezes his eyes shut and comes without a sound, his entire body jerking up off the bed.   
  
He whites out for a second, his own pleasure mixing with Tony’s as he thrusts a few more times before coming with his own sharp cry. In his haze he finds Tony’s mouth and kisses him again, fingers curling through damp hair. Their are words that want to claw their way out of his throat, but he finds himself so lost, so unmoored, he has no idea where to start. But this time, when Tony looks deep into his eyes Steve doesn’t turn away.  
  
It wasn’t the Army that changed him, Steve knows, though for a long time he thought it was. The mask became harder and harder to shake off, not because it was comfortable or right but because Steve had no one left to take it off for. His mother had died, and then Bucky, and for so long Steve had no one.  
  
“I don’t want you out there all alone,” Steve says, his voice low and strained, chest still heaving. “I’m worried about you.”  
  
Tony cups the side of his face and sweeps his thumb across Steve’s bottom limp.  
  
“I know,” Tony says. He kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, bites along his jawline before touching their foreheads together. “You’ve got a lousy poker face, Steve.” 


End file.
